


John it's Cold Outside

by Darkwyverna



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Baby it's cold, Fluff, M/M, Song Lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 17:02:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3074954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkwyverna/pseuds/Darkwyverna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has been up to something but all John really wants is to go home to his family for Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	John it's Cold Outside

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you VERY MUCH to errandofmercy for editing/betaing this for me. Without you it would be filled with ungrammarness. Also, sorry it's so late, I meant to have it up before the new year, but... well maybe it's not the New Year in Hawaii yet?

John was starting to think that Sherlock was making up reasons to keep him from visiting his family for Christmas. First it had been this case, and now the storm.  
“Sherlock, I really can’t stay.” John sighed, looking at the storm as it started to build up. The case had taken them out of London into an isolated town. The case itself had hardly seemed to be more than a five but Sherlock had insisted. John had been able to solve most of it, which had annoyed Sherlock more than it had inspired the normal praise of his deductive skills. The whole thing had been a simple case of hypothermia coupled with a hallucinogenic drug. The real question had been whether the circumstances that led up to the death had been strange coincidence or murder. In the end it had been Sherlock who had put it all together, but without his normal flair and exuberance.  
“John, it’s cold outside.” Sherlock protested. John sighed and looked out the window. They had rented a little cabin for the duration of the case (almost a full week despite its relative ease) and the location on the outskirts of town left much to be desired as far as cabs and public transportation. Mysteriously their rental car had broken down.  
“I’ve got to go away,” John said watching for the cab he’d called, but there had been no sign of it for almost half an hour. He was beginning to think he should call again when he saw lights coming up the road. John picked up his suitcases and began to walk out to meet it.  
“John, it’s cold outside.” Sherlock said more firmly, stopping him and passing him his coat. John frowned at the attention, unsure of where Sherlock was going with this all, but the man had been acting strangely for a while.  
“This evening has been…” He paused, uncertain as to if he’d say ‘nice’ or not, when the door was thrown open. The rather eccentric man who had rented them the property walked in with large basket.  
“I’d been hoping you’d drop in.” Sherlock said, going over to take the basket from the man. John frowned, trying to figure out exactly what was going on, but decided against it. Instead he scowled, certain this was another one of Sherlock’s strange and childish bids for attention. It had taken him months to realize that the man was no better at asking for attention than a precocious child. Now he knew all of the unnecessarily texts and calls and the violin in the middle of the night weren’t so much signs of boredom but cries of “look at me!” . It was ‘obvious’, as Sherlock would say. At first he had tried to get the man to talk about it, or to humor him when he so inelegantly asked for company. However, Sherlock had never had any qualms about being manipulative and once he realized John was being particularly sensitive John had gotten no rest for a week.  
With a scowl, John stalked out as Sherlock dealt with the landlord. Whatever the man was doing he didn’t need John for it. It had become increasingly obvious that John was just getting in the way. Despite this case, John was beginning to feel more like an underpaid bodyguard than a friend. Sometimes he only felt like a pistol, as it was clear Sherlock was even better at hand-to-hand than John was. On top of all of that, which John could have dealt with and rationalized away, Sherlock was becoming distant.  
“So very nice.” He could hear Sherlock purr in that voice he used to wind others around his fingers. John shuddered and started down the driveway. He had managed to get to the street, looking for any signs of the cab he’d called when he was caught. In a rather odd display of affection, Sherlock grabbed his gloveless hand between his own leather gloves and scowled at John.  
“What do you think you’re doing?” Sherlock barked, grabbing John’s other hand. “You’ll freeze out here. Come back inside, I’ll hold your hands, they’re just like ice.”  
“My sister will start to worry!” John protested, looking meaningfully at the main road, and half heartedly trying to break Sherlock’s grasp.The last thing he needed was to give Harriet an excuse to pick up a bottle of liquor out of ‘worry’ for him. Plus this was the first time the family was going to be together for Christmas since Harriet and Clara had gotten back together. It was supposed to be a big, special, Hallmark event.  
“John, what’s your hurry?” Sherlock said in that petulant tone that always made John roll his eyes.  
“Harry will be pacing the floor,” John protested again, but Sherlock had already started to drag him back up to the cabin. The landlord was getting in his car and it occurred to John that he should try to get a ride into town with him, but Sherlock wouldn’t let go of his hands as he pulled him inside.  
“Listen,” Sherlock commanded. John frowned at that and then rolled his eyes.  
“To the fireplace roar?”  
“To the quiet.” Sherlock said. And it was indeed quiet. There was no hum of electricity or gas, only the crackle and snap of the logs on the fire and the hiss of snow on glass. “I had the landlord bring us up some dinner as there’s no kitchen here.”  
“How you manage to get free food is beyond me,” John said, trying to sound irritated, but there was a hint of amusement to his voice that he couldn’t hide. Sherlock was just so… Sherlock. It was hard to explain. The man beamed, a sudden brief flash of joy in the dim room that made John distinctly uncomfortable.  
“But really, I’d better scurry,” John said and pulled free this time as he started for the door.  
“John, please don’t hurry,” Sherlock said and it struck John that the man had asked. Politely. He sighed and sat down on the chair in front of the fire. Sherlock smiled and pulled out a bottle of brandy from the basket, pouring John a half a snifter. John held it to his nose as it warmed in his hand and the aroma almost overwhelmed in its soft, subtle way.  
“Well maybe just a half a glass.” John sighed into the drink, sipping it slowly and companionably as Sherlock took more food and other items out of the large basket. Notably there were a number of records that presumably went on the hand crank phonograph in the back of the room. Sherlock started to plate some of the food, surprising John even further. John was starting to wonder if the whole thing was going to lead up to Sherlock confessing he was diagnosed with end-stage cancer or something equally horrible.  
“More?” Sherlock asked. John shook his head. Sherlock wouldn’t think to break such a thing gently. It would be an ‘at the crime scene’ chat that would make everyone uncomfortable. Still John shuddered and nodded. “Put that record on while I pour.”  
“My sister might think…” Sherlock gave him a pointed look referring to the weather outside and his hatred of repetition. John laughed and went back over to the couch as some classical music started to play, low and sweet in the background. He picked up his glass and sipped to find… “Say what’s in this drink?”  
“A dollop of strong vanilla bean ice cream.” Sherlock said with a grin as John uttered a low groan. John was normally against mixing anything with a good brandy, but the way the ice cream interacted with the brandy…. it was sinful. Still John looked towards the window and Sherlock gave huge sigh. “There’s no cabs to be had out there.” They called when you were on your polar bear trek down the driveway to say the roads were closed and they wouldn’t be taking you.”  
“You could have told me that earlier, Sherlock.” John sighed and took out his mobileto find, with little surprise, that the battery was dead. He’d charged it earlier in town, but the lack of signal out here always killed the thing. Still, there were worse ways to spend Christmas eve than locked in a cabin with Sherlock.  
Where had that thought come from? John thought, suddenly worried. This was his flatmate, nothing more. Still, the sight of the man stretched out on the couch made something in John’s stomach knot. He looked at the brandy suspiciously, wondering what the age was on it and if he had already had too much.  
“I wish I knew how…” to get you to do this at home, John started to say, but changed his mind as Sherlock looked over at him. ‘His eyes are like starlight’ John thought then shook his head. “To react tonight.”  
Sherlock’s eyes sparkled brighter and he sat up suddenly.  
“Well since you’re not going anywhere. I’ll take your hat, your hair looks…”  
“A right mess?” John smirked and Sherlock smiled.  
“Swell.”  
“Who are you and what have you done with Sherlock Holmes?” John asked worriedly. Sherlock walked off with John’s hat and came back with a plated lamb, potatoes, and green beans. “Alright, what’s going on?”  
“What do you mean?”  
“The last time you made me a cup of coffee it was laced with sugar you thought contained hallucinogens and now you’re serving me lamb and pouring bourbon…”  
“I thought we could stand a change.” Sherlock said, brushing it off.  
“Seriously, Sherlock.” John insisted. “You’ve been off all week, and it’s saying something when I say you’re off.”  
“You’re hearing hooves and thinking zebras, John. Just eat.” Sherlock said with that grin that he always used to manipulate people.  
“With you it’s always zebras.” John complained, but ate. It wasn’t just homemade lamb, it was simply the best he’d ever eaten.  
“Would you like some dessert?” Sherlock asked, as he took away the plates.  
“I ought to say no…” He started and then Sherlock came back with chocolate covered strawberries. “No…”  
“John?”  
“What’s going on?”  
“I don’t know what you mean.”  
“I mean this.”  
“Well I thought you would know, you did say these were your favorite.”  
“In my personal journal that I keep away from you and the flat at all times…“ John fumed.  
“Did you think you could keep anything from me?”  
“You read it?” John wasn’t sure whether he was furious or mortified. He’d learned not to keep anything on his computer, or in the flat, but this… He kept this journal at the bank for Christ’s sake, for some small measure of privacy in his life.  
“Skimmed.” Sherlock shrugged.  
“You didn’t think maybe the fact it was in a safe deposit box might indicate I didn’t want you to find read it?”  
“We both know you wanted me to read it or you never would have written it.”  
“I most certainly did not!”  
“So you thought making it a challenge would make me less likely to read it? John, you have a mind. Use it,” Sherlock tutted. Then he made a mistake. He moved in closer.  
John sputtered for an instant before he wound up and struck. But the blow was diverted, and his wrist caught and then twisted behind his back before he knew what was happening.  
“You didn’t mean that.”  
“You can’t say I didn’t try.” John grumbled, trying to shake free. But Sherlock snorted, and snatched his other wrist, pulling it behind his back as well, and then pushed him down onto the arm of the couch, angling in between the half-hearted kicks John was aiming at him.  
“If you think you’ll outfight me, well what’s the sense in hurting my pride?” Sherlock snorted, completely at ease.  
“Let me go,” John snarled.  
“I really can’t,” Sherlock said and there was something different in his tone. “Don’t think I haven’t tried. That whole time I played dead I tried, but I couldn’t let you go. It’s ridiculous. Basic. Animalistic. Maddening.”  
“What are you talking about?” John asked, finally settling into the pin, tired of the struggle.  
“Stay,” Sherlock said softly. “Don’t go back to her.”  
“Sherlock, you’re being absurd,” John sighed.  
“Mary.” He sounded upset, which was different for him. “I can’t say I hate her, as much as I’ve tried. But I don’t want you to go to her.”  
“Look, Sherlock, you can’t keep me to yourself. You’re not a child. And I’m not your property.”  
“I don’t want you like thata child wants an parent. I want you like a man...” Sherlock said, bending over. John felt a shiver run down his spine. Sherlock had read his journal, one that dated back to the army and before, when he had been curious and…  
“Sherlock let me go,” he said coldly. For once the man obliged and John stumbled to his feet, his leg aching.  
“John don’t hold out on me,” Sherlock said, for the first time sounding like a… a human. John grabbed his jacket off the hook and stalked towards the door. Opened it, slammed it back shut and whirled around.  
“Your little games have gone too far this time. I’m not a toy,” John snarled.  
“I’m not playing with you John.” Sherlock looked frustrated. “I thought I was making that clear.”  
“By what, dragging me to the middle of nowhere, keeping me away from my family for Christmas, and what, buying me a nice meal? Mary was there for me when you disappeared.”  
“But you aren’t happy with her,” Sherlock said, as if stating the time of day. John reeled as if he had been slapped.  
“Oh, but that’s cold, even for you. I know that, but I’m willing to work with her, she’s a good person. And you have no right to bring up information you stole from my journal and… use it against me for… whatever this is.”  
“From the outside it’s obvious that it will never work. Besides John I simply…”  
“No!” John interrupted. “I must go.”  
He turned to leave, but when his hand was on the doorknob he felt Sherlock at his back. He wasn’t touching him, but was close enough to feel.  
“John. It’s cold outside,” he said softly.  
“The answer is no.”  
“John, it’s cold outside.”  
“Why do you keep saying that?” He said turning around.  
“Because you don’t have to be cold,” Sherlock said. John narrowed his eyes.  
“If I thought you had an ounce of poetry in you…”  
“I’m warm John,” Sherlock said softly. “You could stay with me.”  
“Why?”  
It was on a very rare occasion that John ever got to see Sherlock look surprised, and normally he took a moment to relish it, but this time he was too engrossed to savor the moment.  
“I gave you the life you wanted,” he said after a moment. John sighed. Sherlock picked up on the fact he had answered poorly and tried again. “You get bored without me.”  
“This evening has been…”  
“No John, don’t,” Sherlock said, and grabbed him. There was a bit of desperation in his eyes, something John saw most often when he was thinking of taking a hit of something or other.  
“Everything you do Sherlock. It’s all a great big scheme to get what you want. I should have known something was up when the landlord had two dinners. How lucky that he dropped in before my cab called and said the roads were closed. Oh, wait. That hardly makes sense, does it? You can never think outside of yourself. Not for a moment.”  
“That’s not true! That’s why I need you!” Sherlock growled and then backed up, glaring at the wall at his confession. When John didn’t say anything he continued, slowly, grumbling. “I can’t stop thinking about you. It drives me to distraction, which is truly unpleasant at times. You’re my Achilles heel, and part of me desperately wants to carve you out, dispose of you myself if I have to, but I can’t. I need you. Not just because you take care of me, though that’s part of it. It’s… you make me feel things, nice and warm things, and frankly while it disturbs me to no end I won’t give up another drug for you John, even if that drug is you, and now look at me I’m not even making sense any more.”  
“That… was the worst confession ever.” John said after a minute of awkward silence had passed.  
“Well I haven’t had much cause to practice, and I didn’t think it really required study…” Sherlock grumbled. They stood staring at anything but each other for a while. Finally John broke the silence again.  
“Look out the window at that storm,” he said softly, watching the snow beat against the pane. The grass had disappeared entirely and small drifts were being swept across the yard. “I guess I am stuck here for the night.”  
“Your sister will be suspicious,” Sherlock said after a moment.  
“No, not really, but Mary will be. You really have been distracted. You didn’t notice we split up.” John said, rubbing his hands together. Sherlock gaped.  
“Impossible.”  
“I thought you’d be-”  
“How could I have not noticed?” He continued and John rolled his eyes. Sherlock ranted for a moment and John watched and waited stoically for him to return to the point. “Wait, what was the cause? No, let me think... “  
His fingers steepled on his temples and his eyes closed tight. John waited, leaning against the door. Then his mouth popped open and his eyes grew wide.  
“It was me!” He said with a small hop.  
“Not good.” John offered, his brows raised. Sherlock frowned and then adjusted his face. After a pause, he went back to the smile he always got when he solved a problem.  
“No, very good. What about me? My neediness hasn’t changed, if anything I’ve been less needy, no something else. I’m a pretty constant force, which means it must have been something on your end. So that could only mean…”  
“Are you going to shut up and do something about it?” John asked, looking uncomfortable. Sherlock beamed.  
“You realized you’re attracted to me,” he said, his clasped hands pointing at him. John sighed, a world-weary sigh that drained from the bottom of his gut.  
“Well of course I am an attractive man.”  
“Are you done?” John asked, licking his lips before biting the corner of his bottom lip.  
“Your lips look delicious.” Sherlock said suddenly, startling John out of his sulking.  
“What?” He sputtered. Sherlock took a step forward pinning him to the door.  
“You think I’m attractive,” Sherlock said in a low voice that sent a shiver down John’s back. “I think you’re interesting.”  
“Just what everyone wants to hear.” John rolled his eyes.  
“I don’t find just anyone interesting. Most people bore me John, but not you.” Sherlock said and moved in closer, until his eyes were all John could see. They were dark, grey, in the light and they twinkled obscenely with… lust? He bent in and pressed his lips ever so softly to John’s.  
“Do you do anything poorly?” John asked slightly agitated and mostly aroused by the wonderful kiss.  
“Apparently I don’t communicate well to simpletons.”  
“You mean the rest of the world?” John laughed and Sherlock’s eyes narrowed.  
“Not you.” He pressed a hand on the door and then pulled back as if burned. “It’s freezing there.”  
“Well I have been pressed on the door,” he said and Sherlock pulled him off and turned him around, wrapping his arms round from behind. He paused for a second, enjoying the warmth of the man behind him before he rolled his eyes and turned.  
“‘Your lips look delicious?’ What’s next, something about a tropical shore? Are you high?”  
“I thought that was a bit much. Oh but Molly’s mind is vicious. She’s the one suggested that text as factual.” Sherlock grumbled. “But your lips are delicious.”  
“We need to talk this through, though.”  
“John we’ve been talking for half an hour now,” Sherlock pouted. “I think it’s clear that we’re compatible, we’ve lived together for years. The only thing we would be adding to the relationship is sex.”  
“Really?” John asked. “That’s all you want to add?”  
“What else would we add?” Sherlock looked honestly confused. “Relationships are the ability to live together and continue a carnal relationship to both parties’ satisfaction.”  
“If there’s been a denser man before… That is not what a relationship is about. And I’d need more than just sex from you.”  
“Like what?” Sherlock asked.  
“Support, a helping hand, an effort to be… decent,” John offered.  
“John…” Sherlock warned.  
“I’m not asking you to be… I don’t know, human.” John rolled his eyes. “I’m asking you to make an effort to prioritize me at a point equal to your own comfort instead of last.”  
“John.”  
There was a sudden slam and the whole cabin rattled with a particularly ferocious gust of wind.  
“Never such a blizzard before… I ought to get home…” John sighed and turned away.  
“John you’ll freeze out there.” Sherlock said and then grabbed John’s arm. John started to pull away. “I’ll pin you again.”  
There was a sudden flush of color across John’s face.  
“Oh...ooh,” Sherlock said, his eyes gleaming.  
“Sherlock.” John’s eyes widened and then he groaned as Sherlock pinned him to the couch again. His heart was racing and the flush on his face darkened as Sherlock sat on his hips.  
“I’m…” Sherlock started, looked away, and tried again. “Being ‘normal’ isn’t easy for me. This… caring person… I’ll never be him. I’ll never be able to be an emotional comfort to you, or talk to you when you’re being irrational.”  
There was a pause while neither of them looked at eachother and then Sherlock started again.  
“However, I can make an effort to consider you more. It wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibilities for me to do housework.” The last words were said with the same enthusiasm one might use to talk about cutting off a favored body part.  
“Um… you’re still sitting on me,” John said after a moment.  
“I don’t want you running off out the door,” Sherlock said looking slightly over John’s shoulder.  
“Well at this point I think you’re stuck with me. Even if you lend me your coat, it’s up to my knees out there.”  
“My coat? I think not.” Sherlock sniffed. Then he smirked and leaned down, one hand pinning John’s above his head. John bucked half-heartedly. “Now what to do with you.”  
“Excuse me?” John did not squeak, because army doctors did not squeak.  
“Most couples copulate.”  
“Why?” John asked suddenly.  
“Be a couple? Because there’s no other way to keep you to myself. And we both know I’m a very selfish person. I think we’ve beaten the part where I want you like a dead horse.”  
“Want me?” John asked and Sherlock rolled his eyes.  
“I want you more than I want a fix. For no one and nothing else would I repeat myself so.”  
“Well you’ve really been grand about your elaboration,” John said rolling his eyes.  
“You want bluntness. I love you,” Sherlock said with a straight face.  
“That’s… oddly sentimental of you,” John offered not looking at the man who had him pinned to a couch.  
“You’re my friend, my support, my link to the world. Defender and prosecutor, ally and weakness, you are what matters. I rejoice when you think, am comforted when you look after me, and I thrill when you touch my hand. And you haven’t replied yet.”  
“I… love you too.” John said, still not looking at Sherlock.  
“Good.” The man sounded well pleased.  
“But don’t you see?” John interrupted as Sherlock was swooping low. The man’s mouth stopped a fraction of an inch from John’s.  
“How can you do this thing to me?” Sherlock groaned and then his eyes lit up. “I’ve always thought there had to be a way to shut you up.”  
“Sherlock…” John asked warily, but it was too late, the man latched onto his collar bone with a quick hard bite. John threw his head back and gasped. Sherlock smirked into the bite and then frowned when, a brief, disorienting moment later, he found himself on the ground. John smirked at his victory.  
“Don’t let yourself become distracted,” John smirked and Sherlock looked… aroused. “I’m not done talking with you. There’s bound to be plenty of problems.”  
“How can you do this thing to me?” Sherlock protested and John watched, amused, as Sherlock slipped into his manipulative face.  
“Because I want this to work,” John said simply. “You are my best friend. I don’t want us to muck this up.”  
“What else could we possibly have to talk about?” Sherlock groaned.  
“There's bound to be talk tomorrow,” John started and Sherlock rolled his eyes.  
“Think of my life long sorrow,” he drawled. John couldn’t help but laugh a bit. “I think you’re putting this off now.”  
“I don’t know what you mean,” John said, rubbing his thigh to alleviate the pain building there.  
“I could care less about what other people think, John.” Sherlock looked up at him from the floor with hungry feline eyes. “What I care about is you. And really all of this sentimentality is getting rather dull, so if we could move on to the sex or decide to forgo it tonight, that would be splendid. I personally prefer the former.”  
“Sex isn’t something we should just… hump into,” John said then flushed. “Jump. I meant jump.”  
“Freud would say there’s plenty implied by that slip,” Sherlock purred and pulled himself between John’s legs. John blushed and did his best to look over the man’s shoulders, feeling oddly giddy, like a virgin. In a way he was. He’d thought about this before, with other men and especially with Sherlock, but it wasn’t anyplace he’d gone. “You’re not nervous are you?”  
“No!” John protested, a bit too loudly. “Did you just quote Freud seriously?”  
“Then we should really see if we’re sexually compatible. That could be a failure in this… relationship.” Sherlock’s mouth twisted a bit at the word, but it wasn’t entirely sour. “Unless you’re planning on leaving still, but I must confess if you caught pneumonia and died I’d be more than a trifle cross with you.”  
“I really can’t stay,” John sighed, thinking of his family waiting for him.  
“Get over that hold out.” Sherlock looked suddenly very stubborn and John felt the blood well entirely in his cheeks as Sherlock nestled himself very inappropriately against him. “John, it’s cold outside.”  
John thought back to what Sherlock had said, about why he kept repeating it. ‘It’s cold outside but I’m warm.’ With a small defeated shrug and a far-too-large grin, he nodded.  
“It’s certainly cold outside.”


End file.
